


Courting Hilary

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: Smart People [6]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David is patient. Becker is oblivious. Sarah and Lorraine observe from the sidelines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courting Hilary

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Luka for the beta!

            Becker stared at the gym, and at the police tape, and at the stone-like face of the soldier standing behind it who was cradling a rifle like a newborn baby.

 

            “Oh _what_ ,” he said tiredly, not caring that it didn’t make sense.

 

            The soldier looked even more stone-like.

 

            Becker dropped his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and ordered his thoughts. “Can you tell me why the gym is closed?”

 

            The soldier broke his impassiveness for a moment to give Becker a You Can’t Be Serious look.

 

            “National security?” Becker suggested, with an edge of sarcasm to his tone.

 

            The soldier’s finger twitched on the trigger guard.

 

            “Fine, whatever, I’m going,” Becker groused, turning his back on what was clearly someone else’s problem, and walking away. Back to CMU, where he’d left his car, where he would throw his gym bag into the back seat and drive to his empty flat, from where he could go out for a long, long run, so as not to feel like an unfit loser. And then he would probably go for another long, long run, and find himself walking home with a crippling stitch, just so he could put off the moment he got back to his empty flat and began to feel like a _lonely_ unfit loser.

 

            Becker didn’t mind solitude, honestly. He quite liked being alone sometimes; he found it peaceful. It allowed him to put his thoughts in order without anyone interrupting, which he occasionally found necessary. But what with living with Greg for a year, and after the acrimonious break-up a month of crashing on patient Tamsin’s couch, he’d got used to company. Even after he’d moved out of Tamsin’s place, there was a steady stream of his old friends through his flat, treating him to useless recriminations, reminding him how much he’d loved Greg, that Greg had only cheated on him once and it had been an _accident_. Greg was drunk. He’d just argued with Becker. He was _emotionally susceptible_ and that made it _totally okay_.

 

            Becker might possibly have bought it if it weren’t for the fact that Greg had been taunting him with his supposed prudish, jealous streak for months, and then going up in a sheet of flame every time Becker so much as mentioned a male work friend Greg didn’t know. If it weren’t for the fact that Greg knew he took fidelity very seriously indeed, and if it weren’t for the fact that _he_ knew that Greg had wanted to hurt him in any way possible that night, so he’d gone off and fucked some anonymous student.

 

            Becker scowled, hitched his gym bag more securely onto his shoulder and glared at the besmirched pavement. It was largely because of Greg that he’d left Kent and come to CMU, which, though unlovely, was the best offer he could get at such short notice – and Becker had no friends here, and practically none of his old friends in Kent were even still speaking to him, because they all believed Greg when he talked about how uptight and secretive and cold Becker was. CMU was looking up a bit, what with David Owen’s barbecue and the time last week Sarah Page had gone around the campus corralling people to go out for a drink after work (Becker had agreed solely because he knew this was Sarah’s way of separating Lorraine Wickes from her desk, and he had a soft spot for Sarah’s bouncy, flippant brand of devotion). Still... He knew hardly anyone here. He was fucking _lonely_ , and the sudden addition to his night-time dreams of David Owen sans clothing wasn’t helping any.

 

            Tangled in a bout of self-pity, Becker hardly noticed the yelling until David put on a burst of speed and caught up with him. “Huh?” Becker said, startled by his appearance.

 

            David was ever so slightly hot and bothered, breathing a little heavily from the sprint down the long road and wearing a t-shirt that clung to him with sweat, evidently having been interrupted in his exercise routine by the unexpected gym closure. “You deaf, mate?”

 

            Becker flushed. “Just thinking.” He was thinking now, too, thinking about all the ways he could get David hot and bothered.

 

            David gave him a look of fond disbelief. “Some thinking. I didn’t know you used that gym.”

 

            “I didn’t know you used it either.” Becker cast a resentful glance back down the road at the police cordon flapping in the wind and the soldier who was still standing there. “Do you know what’s going on in there?”

 

            David shrugged. “Not a clue. Something about the swimming pool and a suspicious death, but that was all I got.” He gave Becker an easy grin. “It didn’t seem like the kind of thing we want to know about, Beck.”

 

            “Huh,” Becker said again, and started walking once more, more slowly. David fell into step with him.

 

            “What were you at the gym for?” David asked, and Becker gave him a weird look, thinking that the answer should have been obvious. David elaborated. “I mean, what kind of routine do you do? I’ve never seen you around and I go three or four times a week.”

 

            “I can tell,” Becker said without quite meaning to. He’d certainly noticed David’s body, but he hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. “Um, some weights, but mostly swimming.”

 

            “That explains why I haven’t seen you. I’m usually glued to the rowing machine.” David grinned again, calmly self-deprecating. “Were you planning on swimming, then?” He jerked his head back in the rough direction of the gym, even though they’d now turned a corner and it was out of sight.

 

            Becker nodded. “I run sometimes too, but swimming’s not exactly something I can do in my flat, is it?”

 

            David pretended to give this thought. “What size is your bathtub?”

 

            “I have a shower,” Becker said dryly.

 

            “Spoilsport,” David said good-naturedly. “You know, there’s a swimming lake near here.”

 

            “There’s a _what_?”

 

            “A lake, Beck, where you can swim.”

 

            Becker stopped dead and stared at David. “It’s _March_ , David. It’ll be bloody _cold_.”

 

            “Which is why you can come around to my place afterwards and warm up!” David said, as if this solved the problem of icy water. “Foolproof plan.”

 

            Becker tilted his head on one side and eyeballed David. “Is this a ‘let me show you my etchings’ moment?”

 

            “No,” David said. “I don’t have etchings.” He luxuriated in the innuendo for a moment, before turning more serious. “Seriously, Beck, I’m not trying to lure you to my flat and assault you. I just want to go swimming with you, because it sounds fucking nuts and therefore fun, and since the lake is probably closer to my flat than it is to yours, you can come to my place afterwards and dry off and bitch at me about how cold the water was. That’s all I meant.”

 

            Becker grunted and stared at David for a moment, formulating a plan.

 

            “That’s a worrying look on your face,” David said unhelpfully.

 

            Becker ignored him, and tentatively offered a compromise. “My car’s at CMU. If we walk back there and get it, we could still go to wherever this lake is, and then back to my flat?”

 

            David grinned. “I’ve definitely heard worse plans. Let’s do it.”

 

***

 

            “And that was it?” Sarah Page said in astonishment, sitting cross-legged on a chair in her kitchen. “Really?”

 

            “Well, sort of,” David said, rocking back on his chair and eyeing the glass of red wine in his hand. “Dunno what this is, but ’s nice.”

 

            “I don’t know either,” Sarah admitted, peering into her own glass. “Lorraine bought it. Lorraine...”

 

            “Beaujolais.” Lorraine brushed an affectionate hand over the top of Sarah’s head, accepted the kiss pressed to her palm, and then continued to move around the kitchen, in the depths of spaghetti bolognese preparation.

 

            David was still shocked Lorraine ate anything as mundane as spaghetti bolognese, but his musings on the subject were interrupted by her flicking his ear with one well-kept fingernail.

 

            “Sit square on that thing, David – I’m not taking you to hospital with a broken neck.”

 

            David grumbled, but settled the chair’s legs back onto the floor, and then blinked rapidly as Sarah leant over the table and flicked his nose with a slightly less well-kept fingernail. God, he hated it when they ganged up on him. “Anyway. Spill, David, I want to know what happened next.”

 

            David shrugged, and stared moodily into his wine. “We went swimming. He’s...” _beautiful_ , David wanted to say, but didn’t. He shrugged again.

 

            “... drop dead gorgeous?” Sarah filled in. “We’d noticed. And then?”

 

            “Went back to his flat,” David said. “Dried off. Got a takeaway. Went home.” He paused in order to take a large gulp of wine. “But it was just like mates, you know? Nothing about the way he acted was... more than that. He seemed really happy, though,” he added, and forbore to mention the way that every smile and every fit of unguarded laughter had warmed him.

 

            “Well, if you make him happy,” Lorraine said, smiling at Sarah in that way that made David think he was intruding on something very private even though Sarah had invited him to dinner and Lorraine had seconded the invitation. She laid aside a wooden spoon, turned down the heat under the sauce and went over and kissed Sarah full on the mouth.

 

            Sarah made a happy noise and took advantage of Lorraine’s lack of balance to tug Lorraine into her lap. David covered his eyes.

 

            “Unaccompanied male in the room,” he said.

 

            “Come on, Sarah,” Lorraine said, and David knew without seeing that Lorraine was removing herself from Sarah’s grip while Sarah pouted outrageously. “It’s really not fair to ask him to dinner and make him watch us making out.”

 

            There was a pause in which David kept his hand over his eyes and deafened his ears to any vague whispers he might be hearing, and then Lorraine chuckled.

 

            “No, seriously, love... put me down. This is very unprofessional.”

 

            “Like Claudia said when she ditched Lester at the staff party and made him deal with Cutter the Nutter by himself, ‘stuff professionalism.” A bit more whispering, and a sigh from Sarah. “Oh, _fine_. Since you ask so nicely.”

 

            “Thank you,” Lorraine said serenely, and the sound of her shoes on the floor told David he could open his eyes. “Embarrassing interlude over, David. So what’s Plan B?”  


            David blinked and hauled himself back to the conversation they’d been having before Sarah had created a diversion, as well as his glass of wine. He finished it off, feeling he deserved it. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a Plan A. It just sort of happened.”

 

             “Oh?” Lorraine gave Sarah a bit of pasta to try, quirking one eyebrow at her. Sarah ate the pasta and nodded, and Lorraine took it off the heat to drain. “Are you going to ask him out, then?”

 

            “I don’t know,” David said, staring miserably at the grain of the table as Sarah laid out knives and forks and plates. “I mean, we have a thing where we go out for a beer sometimes. And I think I’m probably his best mate here. But...”

 

            “Da- _vid_ ,” Lorraine began, with that exasperated lilt in her voice that suggested to him he was about to be lectured, and then Sarah jumped in feet first, as usual.

 

            “What are you waiting for, Dave? You _know_ he likes you. You _know_ you make him happy. You even already have a regular thing together. And it’s not like there’s the slightest chance he might be taken or straight. How much more of a chance do you _want_?”

 

            David muttered something about wanting to know if Becker fancied him, too, and stared at his glass as if that would refill it. Lorraine ladled spaghetti and sauce over his shoulder and told him not to move while Sarah went for the bottle.

 

            “Look,” Sarah said robustly, having given everyone present another glass of wine (or in Lorraine’s case her first glass of wine, as the other one Sarah had given her had gone straight into the sauce for culinary reasons, making Sarah laugh). “He’s probably just shy. You know, one of those quiet, intellectual types, bad experience or two in the past, needs a bit of coaxing. Take him out for a meal or something. Make it obvious it’s a date if he wants it to be and see if he’ll come to you.” Her eyes shot to Lorraine, and Lorraine cast her own eyes heavenwards.

 

            “No comment,” she said dryly.

 

            “You might need to keep trying,” Sarah added, grinning unapologetically. “Twice. Maybe three times.”

 

            “Five,” Lorraine murmured, twisting her fork neatly in her spaghetti.

 

            “Yeah, well, your gaydar is appalling. You thought I was just a very enthusiastic friend.”

 

            “What if that happens?” David broke in. “What if he thinks I’m just a very enthusiastic friend?”

 

            “Kiss him,” Lorraine said.

 

            David turned to Sarah, who shrugged and grinned. “It worked for me.”

 

***

  

            Becker wasn’t totally sure what was the matter with David. The lunch-hours out, drinking beer and sometimes sharing a snack in the pub garden David had first taken him to, had become more regular. That was just... that. That was normal. Becker was used to that, and he actually really enjoyed it. It was nice to get out of the office sometimes.

 

            What was more surprising was the trip paintballing, where David wiped the floor with Becker but was kindly complimentary about his aim and bought him a drink afterwards. What was more surprising was the time David took him to the cinema to a film he claimed all the reviews said was excellent, and which they both universally agreed afterwards over a takeaway was crap. What was more surprising was David’s insistence (when he discovered that Becker was woefully uneducated about the zombie menace) on a zombie-film marathon, which left Becker completely unable to sleep for an entire weekend. David had made a dirty joke about that and Becker hadn’t bothered to restrain himself from replying, and the look of sheer delight on David’s face when he did took Becker’s breath away.

 

            Okay, so David appeared to have some kind of fetish for helping the new boy settle in. He was a welcoming, friendly kind of person, so maybe the time spent together was just his way of trying to cajole Becker out of his reserved calm. Maybe it wasn’t surprising at all.

 

            Maybe David was only being _nice_ , and had no inkling whatever that merely his presence made things very difficult for Becker in the trouser department.           

 

            Becker flopped face-first into his keyboard, sending an unintelligible mish-mash of characters racing across the screen, and sighed. This was the kind of obliviousness he normally associated with straight men, but David...

 

            _Was_ David gay? There had been a time, at the beginning of their lunch-date arrangement, when Becker was absolutely sure David was definitely gay and definitely interested in him, but David was always so careful to avoid making anything that could be taken as a first move and that certainty had worn off. It would be a crime if he wasn’t. He was fucking gorgeous – Becker had seen that at the outdoor lake and it was a good thing the water was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey let alone a flesh-and-blood human being – charming, funny and sincere. Becker couldn’t think of a time when he’d liked someone so much, without any reservations at all except this one confusing question: did David fancy him, or was he just a straight guy so comfortable in his sexuality that knowing Becker was gay didn’t make him feel the need to emphasise his heterosexuality?

 

            Becker growled into the keyboard.

 

            “Beck?”

 

            Becker bolted upright, flushing, and bit back a swearword when he saw David standing there, looking confused.

 

            “Are you feeling all right, mate?”

 

            “Yeah, I’m fine, I – look –” Becker half got up out of his seat, flailed around for something – he wasn’t quite sure what – and then collapsed back into his chair. “I’m fine,” he said at last.

 

            “I think I’ll be the judge of that,” David said firmly, still looking confused, and draped his coat over the photocopier outside before coming in to Becker’s office and laying the back of his hand against Becker’s forehead, as if testing his temperature.

 

            Becker fixated on his fingers, then shut his eyes, because that never ended well and he was sitting right in front of the man. His eyes flew open as he remembered something, and he tried to get up again. “Oh god, we were meant to be getting a drink, weren’t we?”

 

            “Yeah, but if you’re sick, I’m going to see you home instead,” David said, pressing two fingers into the side of Becker’s neck to check his pulse.

 

            Becker tilted his head back to give David more room and stared hopelessly up at him, and then David glanced down into his eyes and gave him a tiny, reassuring smile. “Stop giving me the puppy-dog eyes, Becker. It’s not going to change my diagnosis.”  


David’s eyes went to his watch again, counting out a minute to check Becker’s heart rate. Becker stared up at him, thought _now or never_ , and prepared to blurt.

 

            “Dave, are we dating?”

 

            David looked simultaneously brighter and warier. “We might be. Are you feeling dizzy?”

 

            “If you discount the whole thing where I can’t work out if I’m your boyfriend or not, no,” Becker said, finding that once he had started it was much easier to keep going.

 

            David took his hands off Becker’s throat. “I’d like it if you were?”

 

            Becker’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, and he instinctively revolted from the idea that it was this easy, that all he had to do was say ‘me too’ and that – that would be that, and he... David would be his. It couldn’t be that easy.

 

            David moved backwards. “You didn’t realise, did you?” His voice had turned heavy. “Sorry, Beck. Sorry. I.”

 

            He turned and walked out of the office, and Becker found his voice and bolted out of his chair. “No! Wait! I mean yes! I mean – me too!”

 

            There was the sound of David pausing and retracing his steps. “What the hell, Beck?” he said, puzzled rather than angry.

 

            Becker took a deep breath and reorganised his words. “David Owen, will you go out with me?”

 

            David’s face split into a broad, unbelieving smile, and he took two massive strides into the office before dragging Becker into his arms and kissing him, hard and searching and causing Becker his usual problems in the trouser department. Becker enjoyed himself nonetheless.

 

            Becker grabbed fistfuls of David’s shirt and hung on tight. “Is it slutty if I put out on the first date?” he said, voice a little breathier than he would have liked due to lack of oxygen.

 

            David laughed and Becker felt it against his chest. “Beck, we are a _long_ way off our first date.”         


             “Oh God, we are,” Becker said reflectively, and leant against David, just because he could. “What is this – our sixth? Seventh?”

 

            “I lost track,” David admitted. He pulled back from Becker, just enough to brush his lips across his forehead. “You seem fine to me. Terminally confused, that’s all.”

 

            “Hey, I know exactly what I want,” Becker muttered. “I’m oblivious. That’s my problem.”

 

            David gave him an affectionate grin. “Just a bit. Look, there’s nothing wrong with you that I can see. Do you still want that drink?”

 

            “Christ, yes,” Becker said. “And then... we’ll see, yeah?” He offered David a smile.

 

            David’s grin turned wicked at the corners. “We’ll see.”

 

***

 

            “Sarah?” Lorraine yelled, closing their flat door and staring at the package she’d found on her desk – apparently unmarked, cylindrical, and neatly wrapped. She’d briefly considered taking it to Ryan, but had then decided that most of the students liked her and Caroline Steel would never wrap anything in wrapping paper decorated with full pints of beer.

 

            “Hmm?” Sarah said interrogatively, wandering through from the bedroom, still wearing a grand total of one oversized t-shirt. She sidled over to Lorraine, greeted her with a smacking kiss, anchored a hand in Lorraine’s back jeans pocket and stared doubtfully at the package. “I thought you went looking for your phone?”

 

            Lorraine turned her head to the side, breathing in the scent of Sarah’s shampoo. “Yes. CMU was deserted-”

 

            “I told you so. Saturday morning, Lorraine, really?”

 

            “-and my phone was exactly where I’d left it. And this was on my desk.” She brandished the package.

 

            “So open it,” Sarah said, took it from Lorraine, and tore open the wrapping paper. A piece of paper fluttered out, and Lorraine bent to pick it up while Sarah examined the object that had been inside. “Weird choice of gift for someone who owns beer wrapping paper...”

 

            Lorraine glanced at it, and then, surprised, took a longer look. “ _Turkish coffee_?”

 

            “Yup. The lethal stuff I’ve got you hooked on.”

 

            “Goodbye circadian rhythms,” Lorraine nodded. “So, who’s  it – _David_?” She stared at the note.

 

            “ _What_?” Sarah read the note over Lorraine’s shoulder. It said: _It took 3 ½ dates. David & Beck 1, Lorraine & Sarah 0. Thanks for the advice. Dave._

            Lorraine gasped and laughed. “Of all the cheek!”

 

            “Never mind that!” Sarah grabbed Lorraine’s phone out of her bag. “Have you got David’s number? I want details!”


End file.
